


A Thing Not Necessary

by sabrina_il (marina)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Jewish Character, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Threesome, happy end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is used to dying; it's part of his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thing Not Necessary

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to for the beta; all remaining mistakes are my own. Warning: random Jewishness and lots of porn ahead. Title from Oscar Wilde: "A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it." Please don't act so surprised, you already knew I was that pretentious.

Arthur is used to dying. It's part of his job. A bullet, a noose, a devastating fall. Rarely painless, occasionally self inflicted, these are all things Arthur is well acquainted with.

*

He kisses Ariadne on the steps of a courthouse – a fictional courthouse, where no cases will ever be settled, no justice ever wrought – in the middle of a job, while Cobb is around the corner, at a café, getting cozy with the mark. Ariadne does love building them cities; mazes upon mazes of concrete to lose themselves in. She has the least experience of all of them, but she's usually the one with all the answers. They are always traveling through her worlds.

It's their first real kiss. The kind where they're no longer pretending, to themselves or anyone else. The kind that can't be negated with excuses.

They hold hands, under the table, during Cobb's debrief, after the job's over. Ariadne takes him to her place and tells him to make himself at home while she changes the sheets. Her apartment is tiny, although the view is gorgeous. Right at the city center. He opens her fridge to find a vast nothingness. No one he works with has any idea what a normal life looks like. Sometimes Arthur feels like he's surrounded by five year olds.

He spends the rest of the day in Ariadne's bed. They kiss until they run out of breath and then let their hands roam down each other's bodies, as if committing everything to memory, as if acquainting themselves with new totems. She rides him, pressing his hips down with her weight, running her hands over his chest and playing with his nipples, until his gasps turn into moans, turn into one long shout as her comes. His fingers leave bruises on her skin. After they get rid of the condom he kneels between her spread thighs and licks and sucks at her until she comes, and then keeps at it until she trembles, until she fists her fingers in his hair and moans and says, "Okay, okay, stop," and pulls him up for a kiss.

*

He doesn't take her to his apartment. He's not sure why, except that he never takes anyone to any of the residences he calls his own, as a general rule. He should make an exception for her – he's never been with someone so extraordinary, never felt like this with anyone – but somehow something else always comes up whenever they're about to head over to his place, and neither one of them questions it. Arthur has a policy about lying to himself – more dangerous than a bullet to the head, in his line of work – but occasionally he lets himself simply not think about things.

They go on a job, and then another one, and then there's one that's an absolute disaster, in South Africa, and Arthur spends three days in a private hospital. He doesn't let them use anything but local anesthesia, afraid to lose track of his totem. Everyone comes to see him, except Ariadne. He doesn't mention it when they see each other again, when it's time to go back to work. It seems easier. Later he feels like he'd failed a test of some kind, a final exam, and now he's out of chances.

He knows she's going to break it off before she tells him – he researches people for a living – so he decides to spare her the trouble by doing it first. Their next mission ends up going spectacularly bad; they run out of time before they acquire the information they came for, and the projections manage to trap them in a burning building. Ariadne takes the poison pills she's taken to always carrying with her in dreamscape, before accepting the knife from Arthur's hands.

"I'm sorry," she says, and stabs him, cutting right to the heart. Arthur's world goes black before he has time to reassure her that it's all right. He's used to dying.

Eames waits for him on the other side.

*

Fucking Eames is the easiest thing Arthur's ever done. Eames likes to make himself extremely difficult to get along with, ordinarily, but in bed all his antagonism, all his defenses, even his veneer of nonchalant arrogance is stripped away.

The first time they fuck it's at Eames' apartment – lush and luxurious just as Arthur had expected. They settle in on the couch and strip each other naked, slowly, until they're both down to socks and underwear and Eames' mouth is dark scarlet from Arthur's kisses. Arthur mouths down Eames' neck while sliding a hand into Eames' briefs and Eames does the same for him. They come, Arthur first and Eames not too far behind, with their underwear around their knees, rutting awkwardly against each other, moaning into each other's skin.

Arthur knows objectively the sex wasn't exactly spectacular, but somehow lying with his head on Eames' broad bicep, sticky and still wearing his socks, he feels oddly at ease. More relaxed than he should be, certainly. He glances at Eames and gets the impression he's thinking the same thing.

*

Arthur expects Eames to push at his boundaries, antagonize him every chance he gets, especially when it comes to sex. But instead Eames is earnest and serious; he doesn't leer suggestively, doesn't leave Arthur naughty messages on his voice mail. He simply explains, calmly and rationally, why it would truly be a spectacular idea if Arthur sucked him off right now, in this bathroom, while the rest of their team was working out the boring details of their next job out in the hall.

Arthur's not sure why he's allowed himself to get roped into this, but his knees don't thank him for the exercise. Two weeks later they fuck on a balcony, in dreamscape, in full view of at least a few hundred people. Arthur gets the nagging feeling it's Eames' attempt to ease him into doing this kind of thing in the real world. When Eames changes up the angle Arthur has to grab the railing before the spike of pleasure up his spine makes him lose his balance. A week after that Eames gets them tickets to the theater, with a private box, and nearly sucks out Arthur's brains through his cock during the second act.

One day Eames invites himself to Arthur's place, for no particular reason. Arthur tells him no, before he can stop himself, for no particular reason. It's stupid. He really should let Eames come over. Arthur could make dinner. It's been ages since he's cooked for anyone but himself.

Eames doesn't push it, and Arthur doesn't extend an invitation, and the issue never comes up again.

A few missions later, on a particularly uncomplicated job, Cobb makes a stupid mistake after they get what they came for, and they have to bail out quicker than originally planned. Ariadne isn't with them and Cobb gets thrown off a building by the projections, so it comes down to Arthur and Eames having to fend for themselves. Eames holsters his pistol, saving the last bullet for himself, before jamming the door from the inside and coming to stand next to Arthur.

"This might hurt a bit," he says, pressing a kiss to Arthur's forehead. Before Arthur can say anything else Eames grabs his head and twists it to the side until Arthur's neck snaps.

It's all right. Arthur's used to dying.

He wakes up with a gasp.

*

Arthur tells himself he's happy. It's not a lie; work does make him happy and going back to his apartment at the end of the day doesn't feel dissatisfying or empty. No memories to avoid, just his own space, clean of anyone's imprint. He sleeps with his die in his pajama pants pocket, as usual. His place has every alarm system imaginable, but you never know. No one is ever truly safe.

*

Ariadne corners him in the hallway one day. "I'm sorry."

Arthur doesn't try to hide his confusion. "For what?"

"You know. You and Eames. I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"It's fine," he says, and walks away from her penetrating stare. He has a weird feeling like he's being tested again.

*

The team works great together. In a distant part of his mind Arthur knows he's lucky, that none of his entanglements have ruined their dynamic or impacted their work. They're still the best at what they do, getting better with each job. There's no awkwardness and no one ever makes inappropriate comments about him or his affairs. Well, Eames does, but in his typical, impersonal way. He overhears Yusuf telling Cobb one day that Eames and Ariadne are out having dinner together, for the second time that week. Arthur doesn't take it as a sure sign that something's going on but he's happy for them, if there is.

The last thing he expects is to come home and find Ariadne and Eames cooking something in his kitchen.

For a few moments he's speechless, standing in the open doorway, briefcase in hand. Ariadne puts down the ladle and walks past him, to close the door.

"I hope you're all right with chicken," Eames says.

"The recipe calls for pork, but I know you try to keep kosher," Ariadne says.

Absurdly, what comes out of Arthur's mouth is, "You're making dinner? Neither one of you knows how to boil an egg."

"Hey!" Eames says, raising a large spoon menacingly.

"He can totally boil an egg!" Ariadne says.

Arthur takes a deep breath that ends with a shudder. Ariadne's next to him a moment later, arms wrapped around his neck. "Hey, it's okay," she says, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You're kind of a giant freak sometimes. You need to relax a little." Eames watches them, leaning against the kitchen table.

Ariadne lets go of him and walks over to the stove, lifting lids and checking up on pots. Eames drags him to a chair, makes him sit down and pours him a glass of water. "I'd get you something stronger," he says, "But there's no alcohol in this apartment and for once I didn't bring my own."

Ariadne sighs. "Seriously, Arthur," she puts a spoon in the sink. "No booze? That's pretty much a cry for help, right there." It makes Eames smile, ducking his head. Everyone knows his pet project is to teach every American he comes across the importance of fine liquor.

"You broke into my apartment," Arthur says quietly. He doesn't need to reach for his die; somehow saying the words out loud makes it feel real enough.

Eames shrugs. "It's just dinner."

"Well, there's also going to be the sex, later?" Ariadne says, fiddling with the drawers, trying to find something.

"True, there is going to be the sex," Eames agrees.

Arthur considers telling them to get out of his apartment. Telling them to never shove their noses into his business again, never speak to him, never act like they know what he wants or what he needs or even the first thing about him. He considers getting up and walking out of this apartment and never setting foot here again.

Instead he walks over to Ariadne, pushes her aside and opens the bottom left drawer to produce what she's been rattling around the drawers to find: a lemon peeler. "Please tell me you've used one of these before?" he says, holding it away from her.

"That's what Google's for," she says dismissively, grabbing it out of his hand.

Eames winces along with Arthur when lemon juice goes squirting everywhere.

*

After dinner they take him to the bedroom, undressing him on the way. He puts his head between Ariadne's open thighs on the bed. Eames settles in behind him, spreads his ass cheeks and licks until Arthur's whimpering and barely able to focus on getting Ariadne off. She doesn't seem to mind. Eventually they pull him up and let him tease at Ariadne's nipples while she passes Eames the condoms.

Eames puts one on Arthur and then guides him into Ariadne. She kisses Arthur, holding his head in her hands. He tries to thrust but she wraps her legs around him and keeps him pressed up close. Eames kisses slowly down his back, slick fingers coming out of nowhere to massage Arthur's hole. Arthur moans, low in his throat, and Ariadne grins at him, eyes full of lust and amusement and an overwhelming fondness that washes over Arthur and leaves him defenseless.

Eames' fingers push inside and Arthur closes his eyes, tries to thrust back, but Ariadne's legs and Eames' hand on his lower back keep him still. They stay like that through Eames adding a finger, and then another. Ariadne alternates between watching Arthur's face, taking in his gasps and sighs, and pulling him down for slow, luxurious kisses, swallowing his moans and running her fingers softly through his hair.

Eames finally enters him just as his mouth and Ariandne's are intertwined, and Arthur bites down on her lower lip and squeezes his eyes shut. She pulls on his hair him to make him stop and the pain nearly makes Arthur choke. One of Eames' big hands comes to rest in the crook of Arthur's neck, thumb petting over Arthur's short, sweaty hair there. He drives into Arthur slowly, letting out a soft sigh. Arthur's skin feels overheated, his eyes sting; he rests his forehead against Ariadne's shoulder and feels the two of them caress him and pet him until his breathing evens out.

They stay like that for a few moments. Eames buried inside him, him buried in Ariadne. Then she pinches Eames and he jerks, thrusting deeper into Arthur, making Arthur thrust deeper into her. The three of them let out a chorus of groans. It takes a while to find the right rhythm; Eames is slow and careful and they experiment until they settle into something unhurried that suits everyone. Eames kisses behind Arthur's ear, his cheek, touches his lips to Arthur's at an awkward angle. Ariadne's eyes are bright and hungry, when Arthur meets them again.

Eames keeps one hand, still a little sticky, on Arthur's hips, keeping up the rhythm of his thrusts, and brings the other to run his thumb over the rim, where he's pushing into Arthur. Arthur's breath catches, but Eames' fingers don't linger. He slows down the pace of his thrusts by a fraction, to let himself get more comfortable with navigating their tangle of limbs. He runs his index finger along Arthur's perineum and then gently grabs his balls. Arthur lets out a sound somewhere between a howl and a whimper, sounding desperate and wrecked even to his own ears. Eames' touch is delicate, but Arthur's skin is so sensitive, his balls so full and tender, it feels like Eames is touching the softest, most vulnerable part of him. Every shift of Eames' fingers echoes in Arthur's stomach, makes his chest feel like there's not enough air in the room.

Eames' fingers continue roaming, one slipping into Ariadne along with Arthur's cock. It makes her gasp and clench around them. Eames keeps it there for several thrusts, and then pulls out and moves higher, finding her clit. Arthur can feel her shudder under him when Eames starts to work her clit in earnest. Her hands bury themselves in Arthur's short hair and as her eyes close and she starts panting. Arthur brings a hand to her breast – it's tricky, he needs his hands to make sure he doesn't let her get crushed under his and Eames' weight combined – and strokes her erect nipple, licking and kissing down her throat.

Her gasps get louder and louder the more he and Eames manage to synchronize their efforts, until finally she cries out, chest heaving, and squeezes around Arthur as she comes. They keep up their rhythm through her orgasm, and once she gets her breath back Eames pulls his hand out from between them and brings it up to Arthur's face. Arthur licks at Eames' slick, dripping fingers eagerly, taking them into his mouth and swallowing around them.

Eames' breaths are hot and heavy on the back of Arthur's neck. He pulls the fingers out of Arthur's mouth and pulls back Arthur's head, slicking his hair back from his forehead. He kisses the spot just under Arthur's meticulously maintained hairline and murmurs something Arthur can't make out. Ariadne squeezes around him again, slowly coming down from her orgasm, eyes now completely focused on his expression. He groans, feeling his orgasm creeping up slowly from the pit of his stomach, and in turn squeezes around Eames on his next thrust. Eames nearly howls with it, fingers digging into Arthur's hips, and Ariadne bites her lips with amusement.

Arthur comes first – a miracle he held out so long, given the combined efforts of his partners – and manages not to fall on Ariadne when every muscle in his body gives out. She manipulates him and Eames, despite Eames' dissatisfied groan, until she extricates herself from under them and Arthur slumps against the warm, crumpled sheets. Eames takes advantage of their simplified position and speeds up his thrusts, fucking Arthur into the mattress as Ariadne kisses him above Arthur's head. Her small hands slip between them and Arthur can feel her rubbing at Eames' nipples. His thrusts become erratic and he pushes into Arthur one last time, hard, and comes, forehead pressed against Arthur's slick back.

"See," Ariadne says, settling in against the headboard. "I told you."

Eames nods, still breathless, lying on his back next to Arthur.

Arthur, still panting, makes an incoherent sound to register his objection to the conversation going on over his head. His heart feels like it may never catch up. He knows for a fact this is the filthiest his sheets have ever been. He got used to dying; maybe he can get used to this too.


End file.
